“Lieutenant Morris and I are very poor hands at bayonet work, compared with what we want you men to be when this regiment sails for France,” Prescott remarked, smilingly, as he handed back the rifle to its owner.

From that platoon Prescott passed on to others in his company, offering a remark here and a word of instruction there.

“You men must do everything to get your muscles up to concert pitch,” Captain Prescott announced.  “No lady-like thrusts will ever push a bayonet into a German’s face.  A ton of weight is needed behind every bayonet thrust or jab!”

An orderly approached, saluting.

“Compliments of the commanding officer, sir, and he will see the captain in his office at regimental headquarters, sir.”

Returning the salute Dick walked off the drill ground as though he had nothing on his mind.  Down the street he espied Greg, also going toward headquarters, and hurried after him.  On the other side of the street was Captain Cartwright, who soon crossed over to join them.

In silence, the three captains made their way along the street until they reached regimental headquarters.  It was a low one-story pine shed, with the colonel’s office at one end, the adjutant’s office next to it, and beyond that the rooms occupied by the sergeant major and his clerical force, and, last of all, the chaplain’s office.

None of the three captains was exactly at ease as they entered the adjutant’s office and reported.

“The commanding officer will see you at once,” said the adjutant.  “Pass through into his office.”

Colonel Cleaves, glancing up from his desk, gravely returned the salutes of his three captains.

“Be good enough to close the door into the adjutant’s office, Captain Holmes,” directed the K.O.  “Now, gentlemen, I will hear whatever explanation you have to offer of a very remarkable scene that I came upon this noon.”

All three waited, to see if one of the others wished to speak first.  After waiting a moment or two Colonel Cleaves asked: 

“Captain Prescott, it was you who struck the knock-down blow, was it not?”

“Yes, sir,” Dick answered promptly, “though it followed a parry, and was more of a thrust than a blow.”

“You agree to that, Captain Cartwright?” quizzed the K.O.

“Essentially so, sir.”

“There had been a quarrel, had there not?”

“I made a reply to a remark by Captain Cartwright, sir,” Greg supplied, “which, he felt justified in construing as offensive, though I did not so intend it.  I was annoyed at what I felt to be an insinuation.  Then Captain Prescott came out of his quarters, sir, and caught Captain Cartwright’s wrist.  When Captain Prescott released it, Captain Cartwright struck at him.  The blow was parried, and Captain Cartwright struck once more.  That blow was also parried, and Captain Cartwright went to the floor.”